Briars and Roses
by Ellynne
Summary: Aurora was practical, the briar to her mother's rose. True love would only make things harder. Of course, so did Maleficent, assassins, Rumplestiltskin, and a dog named Gaston. A companion story to The Rough Beast's Hour Come Round at Last, and A Rose for Vengeance. AU (Aurora isn't quite the Aurora of the show)
1. I Know You

Aurora bent over her books, ignoring the noise of ongoing construction (even at this hour of the night) as she tried to unravel the fine points of an ancient treaty in the moments before the assassins struck.

For Aurora, it was simply another, long evening, a time for brooding (again) on her shortcomings as a ruler. She knew she wasn't like her mother. Her namesake, Queen Aurora, had been hidden under the name Briar Rose as a child. The people still affectionately called her Queen Rose.

Princess Aurora was just called the Briar.

Her mother was beautiful with a quick mind and a lively wit. Aurora had seen her speaking in council meetings and dealing with ambassadors and messengers. She could draw out her worst enemies or tie them in knots with a few, well-turned sentences.

Some of her dealings had passed into legend. When sea-raiders had sailed up to one of the port towns while her mother was there, their leader had given a long speech about what he would do to the inhabitants if they resisted rather than surrender and hand over all their goods. It had been a grisly, lurid series of threats—her tutors wouldn't even tell her what all the threats had been. She had been considered too young to hear such things (when she went to the castle records room and found the full account there, she thought her tutors were right).

The raider captain had finished with, "All this we will do if we come in as conquerors."

Her mother, standing on the battlements, had laughed merrily and said, "If!"

They had, no surprise, won that battle easily. The people were inspired by the queen's brave leadership. In the face of them, the sea-raiders lost heart and ran.

Aurora was plain and plodding. Her hair was brown instead of her mother's sunlight gold. Studying in the archives, she read and reread past accounts before even beginning to grasp the basics of what happened. Her mother took in histories at a glance. When Aurora-Briar finally martialed her thoughts to venture an opinion, it was (she felt) invariably well-argued and well-reasoned—and so pedantically phrased, she wondered all her tutors didn't fall asleep listening to her (two had).

Honesty and integrity were important in a ruler, as was a commitment to doing the best she could for her people. But, it seemed to her, to win the hearts of her people required charm and vivacity, things she was incapable of.

Still, she would be a queen. She would have councilors and scribes. She knew she would have to make sure some of them had that gift for a well-turned phrase that she lacked. Already, Aurora was getting in the habit of wearing her tutors ragged, having them help her rewrite the few speeches she had to make to the public or the Queen's Council.

Which led to another worry, of course (because everything did). Her mother wanred her she must never let her councilors and scribes think they had the right to put words in her mouth. When they helped her with her speeches, she did her best to sift through each change, making sure her intent hadn't been compromised or altered.

It was time consuming and tedious. Of all the talents her mother had that Aurora didn't, her quick tongue was the one she most envied.

She thought that was why everyone had been so surprised when she insisted on who she should marry. Aurora was already known for her obsession with accounts and records. For her to be romantic—or anything resembling it—was as strange as if the castle towers had decided to get drunk and dance a jig.

It was also ridiculous of them. As she explained—at length—to her mother, she was _not_ being romantic.

Queen Aurora's love story was legendary. She was the Briar Rose who had stolen away the handsome prince from the fallen fairy, Maleficent.

And, by doing so, had left herself and her daughter with an implacable enemy. She'd also thrown away a perfectly good match that would have resolved the tensions that had festered along the northern border for nearly a century, now.

Aurora sighed, looking over the treaty again. The Northern and Southern Kingdoms had been united through a royal marriage nearly two hundred years ago. There'd been difficulties—note the so-called War of the Bells in the second generation of united rule. It didn't really deserve to called a war—although Aurora supposed it came closer to being one than The Three Day Pig War (casualties: three men, one pig—and the men only died because the navy didn't teach sailors to swim in those days). But, they'd been muddling along till King Marius died with no sons.

The Northern Kingdom insisted only heirs in the male line could inherit and that the king's cousin was heir to the Northern throne. The Southern Kingdom said that was a load of hogwash and pointed out female descended kings in Northern history, both of them. Of course, they'd only inherited when there wasn't _anyone_ else left in their particular dynasties.

There'd been a disagreement and a war. The war ended when Queen Lavinia's son, Aurelius, married the daughter of Henrie, the Northern Claimant (Southerners never called him "king"). Henrie, more or less at swordpoint, named Aurelius as his heir (even if the South never admitted Aurelius needed to inherit anything from him), let him marry his daughter, Katherine, and all was supposed to end happily and well.

Until Aurelius died young and the North decided his daughter, another Aurora, wasn't the next ruler, what with being a girl and all. Aurora's mother, Katherine, hadn't been trusted by the Southern Council—their private letters usually called her "the foreigner"—and had done their best to keep her from having any power or even seeing her daughter.

In actual fact, she'd done a great deal to protect Aurora's interests and had written some strongly phrased letters to people in the North, calling them to task for not keeping their oaths. It might have done some good, Aurora thought, if the Council hadn't decided to punish Katherine for interfering (Aurora was only seven at the time) and sent her into exile in a particularly swampy corner of the Marchlands.

At least, Katherine had a happy ending, Aurora thought. She had fallen in love with a commoner—a troubadour, in fact—and married him against the Council's direct orders. They never recognized the marriage and declared Katherine's son, Roland, illegitimate.

Well, they had to, Aurora thought. North-South politics being what they were, a _legitimate_ son of Katherine of the North would have created even more squabbles about who was supposed to inherit what. Katherine herself was careful to always call the marriage morganatic—a legal marriage but one that meant her son had no claim on either throne.

As a young man, Roland foreswore all claims to any lands or titles in either kingdom and went to serve the ruler of some obscure, little land. Avonlea, Aurora thought.

And there were more years of fighting along the border, till the Southern King, Magnus, had a daughter, his only child, heir to all he possessed: Aurora, the Rose Queen, mother of Aurora, the Briar. Aurora-Rose was to have married King Charles of the North, once again uniting the kingdoms. The negotiations for the marriage were nearly complete when Aurora decided to run off with Maleficent's betrothed.

The result was many ballads and more trouble along the border. Even when they weren't fighting, they still found ways to cause each other plenty of misery. Those raiders her mother faced had already sailed past the Northern coast before reaching the South. If the two kingdoms had been speaking to each other at the time, _someone_ might have sent them word that trouble was coming their way. It would have made The Battle of "If," as it came to be called, much easier for all concerned. Except for the raiders. But that was the point, wasn't it?

So, when Aurora came of age, she knew there was only one thing to do. She had to marry Philip of the North and unite their lands.

Her mother had a way of looking at her whenever she made one of these completely reasonable observations, as though her daughter had lost her mind. "But, dear, you've never even met him. How can you think of marrying him?"

Aurora-Briar had sighed. "I've read over all the reports we've had of him, Mother. He isn't violent or vile. He has a reputation as a very reasonable man. He should understand I'm not giving up my power as queen or taking his. This will be a dual monarchy. Till our children inherit. But, I believe Philip and I will be able to work well together."

"This isn't about working together, love. This is about who you'll _marry_."

"And Philip is the logical choice. Mother, we need peace with the North, and this is the only way we'll ever get it." She bit her lip for a moment, then added, "Also, Philip is said to be quite likable." Not brilliant, the way her mother was, Aurora thought. And not a deep thinker the way Aurora-Briar tried to be and failed. But, he was _likable_. The people would warm to him and love him—as they would never warm to Aurora.

Her mother, however, was frowning. "A _likable_ prince may steal away your power, no matter what you have in the marriage contract."

Aurora sighed, because she knew it was true. She didn't like it, but it was better than some of the other alternatives she'd thought through. "Mother, _I'm_ not likable. The people will never love me the way they do you. We both know it. If I give them a king they love, a king they'll follow, that will still be better than the lords trying to nibble away at my position for themselves. He'll be a legitimate ruler. Any problems will be between us instead of causing a civil war.

"But, I don't think Philip is like that. He's been a fair man. He's not afraid to listen to his advisors but he doesn't let them make his decisions. It's what we need to do—for the good of _both_ our kingdoms."

Mother, of course, didn't agree. She had the most ridiculous idea her daughter should marry for love.

Privately, Aurora wondered if she _could_ fall in love. Everything she'd heard about it—fireworks, explosions, magic, a feeling that seemed to transform the whole world—seemed alien to her. She was slow and methodical and practical. She lacked imagination and wit. When problems came her way, she studied them out till her brain hurt. Then, she made the best, most practical decision she could.

Surely, being able to fall in love meant being able to make a blind leap, to trust something pounding in your heart instead of in your head. Aurora-Briar didn't think she could do that. She didn't think she even _wanted_ to.

So, Aurora argued with her mother and, in the end, messengers were sent to the North. Prince Philip came to visit the South—the first official visit by a Northern royal (that didn't involve an army) in over a hundred years.

Aurora had practiced conversations with her maids and tutors, trying to think of what the prince might say and how she could respond to it (most of her original ideas, they informed her, were bad). She practiced smiling in a warm, spontaneous way until her face ached. She worked on anything and everything she could think of so as not to seem a slow, plodding fool when the time came.

They had sat next to each other during the welcoming feast. Aurora had listened carefully to everything he had to say, made appropriate responses, and been greatly relieved when he didn't look bored or confused at the small stories she dared to add to the conversation ("Don't go on tediously," they'd warned her. "And don't _babble_"). Her smile seemed to go over well. Once, he even made her laugh—unplanned and spontaneously.

Over the next few days, he was kind and considerate—not just to Aurora, but to everyone. He calmed a fight between Lord Octavian and Lord Severn, who never could get along. He helped a peasant who had almost been trodden on during a hunt. When one of the hounds was hurt during the same hunt, he treated the beast's wounds and bandaged them up before the hunt master, who had been caught back at a thorn bush, managed to catch up with them.

He would make a good king, she thought. He would care about his people and try to do well by them. The marriage contract was drawn up.

He _did _seem to spend far too much time looking at Aurora-Briar during the negotiations rather than at the contract, which was troubling. His advisors would point out important passages under discussion to him, trying to draw his attention back to it. Aurora herself took to pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of certain clauses.

Philip had looked surprised the first time she did it. Then, he smiled warmly at her, hanging on every word.

"You must pay _attention_," Aurora said, using the kind-if-slightly-worried voice she'd practiced for council meetings. She lacked the skill to argue—or to argue _persuasively_. Even when she could see all the facts lined up on her side, she knew that her debating, rather than getting people to agree with her, left them with bored, glazed-over eyes. Putting her concerns as questions and making the councilors explain again and again till they began to realize maybe they hadn't thought of everything was one of the few techniques she had that worked.

"But, you're looking out for my interests so carefully," Philip said.

"But, I don't understand them as well as you do. Look at this clause. It requires your people to send word of trouble along the coast and to send help if we require it."

"It requires the same thing of you."

"But, the South has been raided far more often than the North. You have those rocky coasts to defend yourselves. Does this work more to our advantage than yours? Are there modifications to it you want?"

"You have a clause for wergild. If our men die fighting for you, you owe their family and dependents support. That should keep you from exploiting it."

One of the prince's advisors cleared his throat. "But, there's also a clause for wergilds we would owe the South if we _didn't_ deliver aid. Who is going to decide that we _should_ have sent aid? Perhaps we couldn't. Perhaps we didn't know. And, perhaps these men would have died anyway. This could wind up costing us far more than them."

Aurora-Briar nodded. "Exactly. I've done everything I can to make sure the agreements are fair and will encourage peace, but that doesn't mean there won't be mistakes or things that aren't more to one side's advantage than the other's. It's not enough to have good intentions. We must make sure those intentions are properly set out."

The prince had smiled brilliantly at her and paid closer attention to the discussion afterwards. Despite that, it wasn't until after the wedding and the hours of feasting and dancing that followed, when they were alone in their room and he poured out his heart to her as he held her in his arms that she understood.

At first, she just thought he was drunk. That made sense, didn't it? There had been a great deal of wine and, although it had been watered down, she supposed he must have drunk a lot of it. Then, she realized wine wasn't the problem. Or not completely. It had loosened his tongue, but—

"I knew when I saw you," he said. "You're a child of true love, the daughter of the princess the fairies blessed—" He babbled on, describing a Princess Aurora who was beautiful with quick smiles and—of all things—a ready wit ("You dole it out so carefully," he said. "But, I can see you holding back on all the things you want to say") and on and on, describing a woman who had _nothing_ in common with her.

Worse, a princess _he had fallen in love with._

She had stood there with her carefully practiced smile frozen on her face, glad the room was dark and hoping Philip had had too much wine to recognize what she was thinking even if he had seen her face. Then, he finished, and she realized she was supposed to say something.

Something romantic, she thought. Because, Philip was kind and thoughtful. Worse, she thought, he deserved to be loved.

And she needed to save their treaty.

She had thought he understood the same way she did; they were marrying for the good of their people. Aurora had not hoped for anything more in their marriage than that they would care for each other.

And she did. She cared for Philip. She thought she even _liked_ Philip—though like was another tangled, complicated word, nearly as bad as love—but she thought she it was what she felt and not just something she told herself to feel because her husband deserved it.

But, while all this was running through her head, she realized Philip was looking at her like a hopeful puppy and waiting for her to say . . . something.

"Oh," she said, stopped, wetted her lips, and tried again. "Philip, I—" But, this wasn't one of the conversations she'd practiced. This wasn't one she'd even _thought_ of. Her mind was completely, terrifyingly blank.

Only, it seemed Philip was drunk enough to fill in the blanks (or, she thought later, drunk enough to hear her stuttered "Oh. Philip" as "Oooh, _Philip_," though the mere thought of having spoken like that to anyone, husband or not, turned her face red). He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately and—thankfully—didn't expect any more conversation from her that night.

Aurora had been so terrified over the next few weeks. Her husband _loved_ her. He thought _she_ loved _him._ She couldn't tell him the truth and she knew it was only a matter of time before her very limited acting was pushed to the limit and he realized the truth. She tried to throw herself energetically into other projects. They had agreed to rebuild the castle that stood at their kingdoms' border, at what had been the capital before the kingdoms ruptured. It had been burnt (several times) and the city around it razed. But, it would make a good symbol of their new union, besides giving Aurora some distance from her mother.

All the same, Philip had begun chiding her for being so quiet and demure when the letter from Maleficent came. Though she had hated herself for it, Aurora felt a wave of relief for the distraction.

It was the sort of letter you expected from someone like Maleficent, line after line of false-sweet praises and greetings for the King and Queen, most of them double-edged, implying she'd like to see them dead. These were followed up by equally false-sweet greetings and double-edged, good wishes for the newlyweds, implying she'd only like to see them dead after a very long, drawn-out period of suffering—very gruesome suffering.

There had been a time when Aurora would have understood something like this only after one of her tutors told her. But, it seemed, her hard work had paid off—that, and the councilor reading it to them kept grimacing and commenting (Aurora still remembered the tutor who had explained things like grimaces to her, when he realized she was often so busy listening to the words that she never noticed the faces. Those lessons had nearly driven her mad. But, thanks to them, she had some idea what Maleficent was talking about).

Finally, after about two pages of this, the fallen fairy got to the point (and people said Aurora-the-Briar was tiresome).

"Though I am, sadly, unable to attend on you in person," (translation: Maleficent, when her curse on Aurora-Rose and her prince had been broken, had been magically bound never to set foot in their realm again. It looked like that still held) "I am glad to learn of the happy union of your two lands. The Northern Kingdom has always been a favorite realm of mine and I hope, now I know it has been united with your own, that it will hold an even dearer place in my heart. I shall endeavor to spend many happy days there. If I do not see Prince Philip himself, I am sure I will be able to console myself with time spent among his happy subjects."

Translation: I can't come into the South. I can do whatever I want in the North—and I will, if Philip doesn't show up and face me.

So, Aurora-Briar felt relief—and guilt for feeling relief—as her husband rode away. "I will face her and destroy her," Philip had promised Aurora. "We will still rule and watch over our people from this castle you are building. Nothing can stand in the way of true love."

Did this call for a smile or something else? Why hadn't she practiced something besides smiles? Aurora pulled out the gravely concerned look she used in council meetings and tried to think what a woman in an old ballad would say at a time like this. Something long and flowery, possibly involving her heart breaking if he didn't return. She didn't think she could say that. What did she want to say? What could she say that wasn't a lie?

"Come back," she said. "I know you won't listen if I tell you not to go. But, come back."

He had smiled that warm, likable smile of his, the one Mother said might yet let him steal the kingdom. "Always," he said and kissed her.

Then, he rode away.

His knights later told her said he had gone straight to Maleficent's castle to challenge her instead of going home to summon his forces and wait for her attack.

No one had seen him since.

This was why Aurora found herself pouring over old treaties, wondering what this meant for the union of North and South while stonemasons and carpenters still labored around the clock to build the symbol of that union.

She tried not to think how it was her fault if Philip was dead. Maleficent. After all the time she'd spent pouring over history and thinking over the ramifications of a marriage, she hadn't thought about the deadliest enemy her kingdom still had—an enemy who was still alive and perfectly capable of killing all of them. Aurora hadn't even thought about what it meant to the magic protecting them from Maleficent if the borders keeping her out changed.

Deep in thought , as well as guilt, Aurora never heard the assassin coming up behind her, not till he had the knife at her throat. "Come with me, princess," the man whispered. "The Lady Dragon has a message for you."

**Note: **Whew, this was kind of the info dump chapter. Also, I am deliberately trying to write Aurora as high functioning Asperger's. Partly because I have some relatives on this spectrum and they deserve princesses, too. It overdoes some of her traits as done in the show-and will be changing her relationship with Philip-but I'm hoping it's a good idea. Or not a horribly bad one.


	2. The Way of Thorns

**Note: **For those who haven't read A Rose for Vengeance, this story ties into that. Rumple was going to plant the rose that was Gaston on Belle's grave. Instead, he decided to turn him into a very large demon dog with the charge of hunting down Belle's killers.

X

At last, Gaston had found the trail. Rumplestiltskin had been right. He _smelled_ Belle's blood on it.

He had picked it up near the Village of the Han, as they called themselves. It was a trading outpost from an even farther away land, the Middle Kingdom. Gaston had spent months criss-crossing the countryside, looking for some sign of Belle's murderer. He'd begun to think it was impossible, that the killers had all been murdered in turn, maybe to keep them from ever telling the truth. Or else, as impossible as it seemed, Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, was just _wrong. _ Gaston hadn't found any sign of murderers because there were no murderers to be found.

Then, he smelled something, a salt-sweet scent. Blood.

Belle's blood.

He'd growled. A hot, terrible fire—not like anything he'd felt as a man—building inside him. He wanted to find whoever had done this. He wanted to tear them apart with his fangs.

Imaged rose up off the blood scent, things the men had done. The pictures tangled up in his head without order. They robbed Belle. They threatened her. He saw them trying to throw her down a well, then, caging her like an animal.

He tried to fight down the animal rage, to _think. _Surely, they couldn't have done _all_ that? Images piled up, not making sense. Were these things they'd done or only things they'd thought of doing? There was nothing to show him what was real and what wasn't.

It didn't matter, he decided, the growl building in his chest. What mattered was the heart of it, they had hurt Lord Maurice's daughter. He didn't just smell blood, he_ hungered_ for it. They were the men he was supposed to hunt down—and punish.

Licking his fangs, he set off after them.

The trail was old. Gaston followed it through the mountains. The men had stopped off at some foul inns. Gaston, thought about making the effort to become human, to go in and ask questions (to get away from the blood scent and the hunger that came with it), but decided against it. His clothes were more worn than when he'd started his journey, but he'd begun to learn what happened when a well-dressed noble—especially one who wasn't able to pay for other men's drinks—showed up in a place like this.

Instead, under cover of darkness, he padded around the place. His hound's body blended into the dark. Unless he turned his burning eyes on someone (or ran into the rare witch. Or werewolf. Or fairy. Or others with sight), no one would ever know he was there.

The animals stabled near the inn shifted uneasily when they caught his scent. The guard dogs whined and crouched down submissively. Then, if he tried to make it clear he wasn't going to eat them, they were so overjoyed, they yapped loud enough to wake the dead and tried to get him to join whatever doggy games they were playing. He ignored them, too, keeping to the trail.

He was back in the lowlands before he began to close in on them. The smell was fresh and clear, maddening. It filled up his head, making him angrier, hungrier as he neared his prey. These men had killed Belle that blood scent whispered. _They would pay._

_No. _Gaston tried to push back the urge to kill as it became stronger. Was this part of the spell Rumplestiltskin had put on him? Or . . . was it him? He owed Belle vengeance, for her sake and his honor's sake. But. . . .

He remembered going up to Rumplestiltskin's castle doors and demanding satisfaction at the end of his sword. Well, not _satisfaction._ That would have implied he saw the imp as a creature of honor. Which he didn't. Or hadn't. Since then, he'd agreed to let the imp help him get his just vengeance, and surely that meant the imp had some kind of honor. Didn't it?

Gaston remembered the observations Belle often made in Maurice's court. They were quickly, carelessly said, as if she was just saying what everyone else already knew.

Except, many times, no one else did. Gaston certainly hadn't.

He'd never thought of it at the time, but . . . could Belle have said those things deliberately? A way of letting people know important things they'd missed? He'd never thought of her as sneaky, but she _did_ read a lot. . . . Gaston wished she was here so he could ask her opinion on Rumplestiltskin. He had a feeling she would have better insights than he did.

The trail led him to a great lake with a castle in its center. Gaston prowled its edges but, when he considered swimming across it, he smelled foul things in the water and saw strange shadows moving beneath its surface.

No, he decided, still stalking along the shore, he would wait for them to come out.

He saw them finally. They were upwind of him, so he caught their stench easily enough as they got in their small boat. Gaston wondered if they had a protection from the things he suspected were in the water. Nothing attacked and ate them as they rowed away.

To the opposite end of the lake. Naturally.

Gaston couldn't help it. He could _smell_ them. He was so close, he could almost _taste_ them. And they were heading to the other end of a lake so large that, even running, Gaston would take at least a day to get to where they were already disembarking. He let out an angry howl, before beginning the long fun to catch up with them.

Except, something heard his howl. Out of the corner of his eye, Gaston saw a dark shadow move along the castle ramparts. He looked over, catching a glimpse of _something_—something that began to grow.

Something that spread its wings and came flying after him.

Gaston raced into the woods as the dragon soared after him, ducking into the shadows of the trees and desperately hoping the monster wouldn't burn down a forest to get to him.

It didn't.

He wasn't sure how good the dragon's nose was. One thing he'd learned as a demon dog was that smell was much more powerful than he'd ever believed as a man. His eyes and the way he saw the world was also different and, he could only assume, so were the dragon's. He didn't know if it would see him creeping through the forest below. He wasn't sure if it was still circling overhead or if had given up and gone home—or if it was, even now, following his scent along the ground, coming up behind him.

He kept moving.

When nothing had attacked him by the time he'd put a few miles between himself and the lake, he began to relax. A little.

Of course, now it was time to head back.

He cut a very large circle around the woods, watching the sky and listening for hunters moving through the woods or the sound of wings overhead, but there were only so many precautions he could take. After all, he needed to find that trail again.

It was three days—_three days—_ before he did. Now, he barely stopped for rest, afraid they would get away again. He kept on during the day, no longer waiting for the cover of night. He didn't even try to avoid the roads, though he wasn't stupid enough to openly run along them. Not more than he needed to.

Not that any of it mattered. Food, rest, he could do without those. Because, at last, _he was getting closer._

Finally, his stomach growling, he caught up with them. The trail led directly to a castle. Gaston stopped briefly in surprise. It flew the banner of the Southern Kingdom. Had he come that far from Avonlea? What would Belle's murderers be doing here?

The human part of him, struggling to keep the dog's instincts under control, had the feeling something wasn't quite right (again, he found himself wishing he could ask Belle. Things always seemed clearer once he'd told them to her).

Then, he smelled fear. He smelled panic.

He smelled Belle.


	3. Meetings and Sacrifice

_Stupid! _Aurora thought as her kidnapper led her away. _Stupid, stupid, STUPD!_ She'd missed the obvious. As usual.

Maleficent couldn't enter the kingdom. That didn't mean she couldn't send agents.

"Come with me, Princess," the man had said. "You wouldn't want to get hurt, now, would you?" He led her out of her study. The guards who had been stationed by her door were still there. They were also dead.

"No, I wouldn't want to get hurt," Aurora said, stepping past the bodies.

She was afraid, but she didn't think it showed in her voice. It was always so hard to make her voice sound the way people thought it should, especially when she was truly nervous or afraid. She just hoped she sounded humble and scared instead of defiant. It wasn't smart to sound defiant to someone holding a knife to her throat. "What's Maleficent paying you?" she asked. "The Two Kingdoms can probably pay more." Probably. She'd said _probably. _Sound certain when you negotiate, her mother always told her. Her mother would have sounded assertive.

No, her mother would have seen this coming and been waiting with a battle-ax.

The man laughed. "And get eaten by a dragon? I don't think so. Besides, we're getting paid in magic, not gold."

"Maleficent won't eat you. She can't enter the South King dom."

Although, she could send assassins. Aurora hoped the assassin she'd sent wouldn't think of that.

But . . . Maleficent _hadn't _sent assassins before. Had something changed? If all she needed to get around the kingdom's protection was to hire someone to do the killing for her, why_ hadn't_ Maleficent done it before?

Aurora wanted to yell someone was cheating, changing the rules on her. She didn't see, though, how that was likely to help.

"She'd find a way," the man said. "And, like I said, she's not paying in gold. Not _just _gold. You know what magic's worth? You hear what happened in the Marchlands? They were being attacked by Ogres. Swords and gold couldn't beat them. Magic could, though their lord had to sell his daughter to get it."

_Sell his. . . ?_ People said things sometimes that Aurora didn't understand. Metaphors and old sayings were just _confusing _(how did curiosity kill a cat, anyway? Curiosity didn't carry weapons). She _thought_ she knew what that meant, but. . . .

"Sold her? What do you mean?"

He laughed coarsely. "Are you that stupid, girl? Or just pretending to be innocent? There's a Dark Wizard she caught the eye of. He made a deal: the lord gave him the girl, the wizard killed the Ogres.

"I met her once," the man added. "After the wizard got tired of her. She was a pretty enough, but up to her neck in dark magic. Sold her soul to the wizard for it, before he threw her out. There was a demon dog terrorizing the countryside, and the witch helped it escape the hunters. Thought it was funny, what the monster did. It burnt down half a town before we stopped it. We caught the witch, too. Gave her to people who know how to deal with that kind of filth."

"Maleficent is that kind of filth. And you're working for her." It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that Aurora wondered if that was another stupid thing to say. It was a logical argument. But, maybe it sounded like an insult, like she was calling him filth (he was filth, she thought, thinking of her dead guards, but it never seemed to work to tell people that).

"Maleficent's isn't sending a demon after me. And her money's as good as anyone else's."

The assassin dragged her into the lesser courtyard. Aurora looked around, hoping to see guards, but the lesser courtyard was near the interior of the castle, far from the ongoing construction. The guards, the ones still alive, would be elsewhere.

In the center of the courtyard was a spinning wheel. There was also another man holding a knife to Philip's throat.

Aurora felt a stab of irrational hope. This was the sort of thing Philip was _good _at.

Although, he'd already been captured. And there was something wrong with his eyes.

Drugged, she thought, her heart sinking.

"You got her?" he said. "Good. Here's the deal, Princess, you see that spinning wheel? And you know what it is?"

"Yes." Of course, she knew. Everyone knew. Her parents had met, fallen in love, and paid for it.

"You touch the spindle, your prince lives. Simple, isn't it?"

Aurora tried to think calmly, even though she could feel panic welling up inside her. She'd heard her mother's tales of what happened when she was under the curse, and she had no desire to touch that spindle.

If she were her mother, she would find a way to save both of them. She was certain of it. But, she was Aurora-Briar, not Aurora-Rose. That meant she had to choose.

The union had already been strained since Philip vanished. His people loved him in a way Aurora's people would never love her. _Her_ people had already begun to love him.

If something happened to Aurora, Philip was her heir. Mother would insist on picking his new bride—it was in the marriage contract that Philip have the South Kingdom's permission before he remarried if anything happened to Aurora. They would find someone both sides could accept. They would have to.

Because, no matter what the circumstances, Aurora couldn't hold the two kingdoms together without him.

"I understand. I'll do it."

Philip's tired eyes widened. Despite whatever they'd given him, he managed a protest. "_Nehh_." The word was drawn out and slurred, but Aurora understood it. _No_. "Nehh, 'Rora. Liahs. Ki'you. Ki'boh'"

It took her a moment to understand that_. No, Aurora. Liars. Kill you. Kill both. _

Oh. Right. It was what anyone who wasn't _stupid _would have seen.

There was no reason for the assassins to keep their promise. In fact, there was reason not to. Philip could raise the alarm, describe them—

Philip, she realized, would think he could break the curse. The way her father had. True love's kiss.

_Oh, no._

But, none of it was showing in her face. "You're a cold witch," the man with the knife at Philip's throat said. "Want me to just carve him up?"

_What would mother do? What would anyone with half a brain do? What do _I _do?_

Aurora thought of the stories she read and the clever heroes who _always_ found a way out of these things—

And she saw the answer.

She just hoped these men hadn't heard the same bedtime stories she did. Or that they didn't remember them.

"You must swear on the sun pillar," Aurora said, nodding her head towards the sun dial. She felt the knife scrape against her throat. All right, that was stupid. She knew that. Just let her get through this without slitting her throat _before_ Philip was safe. "You know about its magic?" _Try to sound confident. Try to sound like Mother._

"Magic?" the assassin behind her said.

"It was a gift from the Sultan of Agrabah." That sounded good, didn't it? Adventure stories were always being set in Agrabah. "It draws power from the sun. Any oath sworn on it must be kept. If not, the next time the sun shines on you, you'll burn to ashes." This was almost word for word from the story of The Clever Thief, the part when he'd been caught by mountain trolls and had to talk them out of eating him. Please, let them not have read The Clever Thief. "Swear on it," Aurora plowed ahead, trying not to give them time to think—or remember. "Swear you won't harm Philip." Oh, wait. Philip would still be a threat to them. "And he can swear to let you go. Then, I'll touch the spindle." It had to be willingly. She could be tricked or coerced, but she had to be the one who chose to touch it. Or the curse wouldn't work.

"The prince'll just kiss her awake," Philip's assassin said.

"He'll promise not to. He'll promise on his honor to leave this castle and never return." And he would keep his promise, too. She thought. She hoped.

No, it was too much to hope. Even if Philip promised, even if he kept the promise, someone would figure out a way around the promise, someone smarter and cleverer than her. If nothing else, if Philip promised to leave the castle, someone might get the clever idea of just picking her up and carrying her to wherever Philip was.

And he'd find out he couldn't wake her.

The men weren't like her. They couldn't be stupid enough to fall for it.

"Deal," Philip's assassin said. "We swear. You touch it."

Aurora nodded (carefully, because of the knife). "Deal." Oh, she'd left something out. "Swear first."

X

Gaston reeled. Belle? It couldn't be. Belle was dead.

He sniffed the air again.

Like Belle, he decided. Very like Belle. But not her. He could smell the differences. Or his dog brain could. Unlike the killers, who flooded him with confusing pictures of what they'd done to Belle (tried to do? Wanted to do?), these smells didn't conjure any images.

Just . . . feelings. Impressions. Things that were sharp and piercing when he thought of Belle's scent were smooth and blunt. Things that were gentle in Belle seemed hard. But, there was the same determination, the same . . . endurance. Was that the word? He'd never thought of Belle as enduring when he was just a man. She was just always there, quiet, calm, never angry or panicked. . . .

Maybe she was enduring.

And . . . another feeling, harder to explain. But, it made him remember Belle when she agreed to go with the Beast. It was in his memories, too, when he'd been sent to fetch her from the infirmary. She always seemed to be there or with the refugees, sorting their limited supplies, finding places for the ever-growing crowds who filled the castle halls and courtyard.

Sacrifice, he thought. Self-sacrifice.

Funny, he'd never thought of it that way while Belle was alive. It was just her job, her duty as Lord Maurice' daughter. And one she seemed to spend too much time doing.

Was this who the killers were after?

He had to get into the castle.

He looked at the gate. Too well-lit for him to pass as a shadow. Despite his bulk in this shape, he could flatten himself down amazingly when needed. He thought he could hide beneath one of the larger wagons and pass unseen.

But the oxen would smell him and likely panic. Bad idea.

Or was it?

Gaston looked around. There was still traffic going in and out of the gate, despite the late hour. Workers and supplies for the building, which seemed to go on all through the night.

He didn't think this would have worked back home. But, these guards didn't seem disciplined at all. They barely inspected the carts coming in. Gaston, used the more rigorous standards of the Marchlands—smugglers and brigands kept the Maurice' men busy long before they had Ogres to contend with—shook his head. No wonder they had killers walking into the castle.

There were plenty of oxen, but he saw something even better approaching: a train of mules. Their loads were strapped to their backs. There were no wagons to slow them down or limit their movement. They were even accompanied by a few men on horseback.

Oh, yes. This should work beautifully.

Gaston slunk through the shadows—it took very little to hide him. Then, he dodged in front of the train.

The leader, a man on horseback, didn't see him. The horse did.

Just to help it along, Gaston let out a low growl.

The horse panicked, rearing up. The other animals, already catching Gaston's scent, were stamping their hooves and trying to move back, while the men tried to drive them forward. The rider, struggling to control his frightened animal, only made it worse.

Things probably would have taken care of themselves from there, but Gaston lifted his head and focused his red, burning eyes on the mules. The men, still struggling to keep the frightened beasts in line, didn't see him. The mules, eyes large with fear, began to buck and fight. Some of them managed to break and run.

One ran into a lamp-bearer, holding a lantern up to light the group's way.

The lantern fell into a pile of hay, igniting it.

People began to panic, some of them trying to run from the fire, some of them trying to get to it and put it out before it spread.

Oops.

This was a bit worse than he'd intended.

Well, at least the guards were about what he'd expected. In the Marchlands, they would have raised the alarm but stayed at their posts in case this was a distraction (they'd have been right, too). These ones just ran towards the flames.

Feeling guilty, Gaston turned his back on the fire and slunk through the gate. It wasn't as though he could help put it out. In fact, the sooner he got away, the sooner the mules and horses would calm down.

Or that's what he told himself as he slunk across the courtyard.

"Stop, monster!"

The shout took him by surprise. Someone had _seen_ him? Then, the arrow whizzed past him, grazing him along the side.

Gaston had had some strange experiences these past months. He'd been attacked by lions (it hadn't been his fault!) and caught in a cave-in (all right, that one was). He'd been bruised, but nothing had gotten through the iron hide of the body Rumplestiltskin had given him. He'd begun to wonder if anything could.

Blood streaming from his side as he ran, he had his answer.

X

"No," Philip had said. Fear helped him get past the drugs. Aurora understood that. "Don't. . . ."

"Promise them," Aurora said. The assassins had already sworn their oath—and they were smart enough to make it conditional on Philip making his. She tried to think of the argument that would move him. "Please, I can't watch you die."

And she couldn't. Philip deserved better than her. He deserved someone who could love him as much as he loved her. She couldn't do that. But, she couldn't see him die because of her, either.

She was never any good at reading faces, but Philip's was obvious. She could feel his frustration and grief. He put his hand to the stone. Aurora closed her eyes. Philip might know she had been lying about the stone's powers, but she knew him. It must be killing him, but he'd keep his oath.

"I sweah n't'pursue. I sweah . . . liht y'go." _I swear not to pursue. I swear . . . let you go._

She watched the assassins, hoping they'd be satisfied.

"Tie him up," the one holding her said. "Let's get on with this." He shoved Aurora towards the spinning wheel. "All right, Princess, time to keep your promise."

Aurora lifted her hand.

_I'm sorry, Philip. I'm sorry, Mother. I'm too stupid. I can't find another way. Please, make the kingdom work. Please._

Then, a howl cut through the night, like legions of ghosts rising out of their graves.

They all turned and saw a monster, a giant beast made out of living darkness, its eyes burning like a smith's forge. It looked right at Aurora and leapt.

X

**Note: **Yes, these are the men who helped Regina capture Belle. They believe some of what they said about her and Rumple. Mostly, they're still mad that a woman outwitted them and was able to do what they couldn't.


	4. Gathered Together

Gaston raced into the castle. Sniffing the air, it was easy to find the way the killers had gone.

Yet, he hesitated. He was wounded and leaving a blood trail. Somewhere behind him, there was a pursuer with weapons that could pierce whatever protection Rumplestiltskin had given him. Somewhere ahead were killers, three of them, who met with dragons. The smart thing to do would be retreat, get into the woods where he could hide till he'd healed.

But, there was that scent, like but not like Belle. He had failed Belle three times over: failed to protect her when the Ogres were overwhelming their lands, failed to find a solution that didn't cost Belle her freedom when she sold herself to Rumplestiltskin, and failed to rescue her after her freedom was lost.

So, he followed the killers' scent instead of retreating. When they split up, he followed the scent that led towards the smell of Belle.

When he saw the dead guards, he knew he'd made the right choice.

The smell of so much blood, fresh spilled, made his beast's brain go mad. He wanted to find the men who'd done this and rend them in his teeth (_and Belle, where was Belle?_). Instead, he tried to force himself to think. He tried to calm his mind, the way he'd sometimes had to during the war, ignoring the chaos on the battlefield (_ignoring the smell_l—_the _taste—_of blood in the air_ as _it burned his tongue, his mind with each breath, demanding answers in kind_). Berserker rages might work for Ogres, but they only got humans killed.

Gaston forced himself to ignore the hot, red savor and think.

Two guards, both dead, their throats slit. But, he only smelled one killer.

The guards here were loose and undisciplined, but he doubted even one of them would casually stand by while his companion's throat was slit—then stand by and do nothing while the same killer attacked him. Yet, here they both were, dead—and they'd died without a chance to raise an alarm.

Gaston ticked off the things that could allow the killer to do that. The murderer might have drugged the guards. One of the guards might have been helping him and been surprised to be killed along with his friend. Or the killer might have had a threat good enough to make them stand still while he killed them.

Or, he'd had magic.

Gaston had first seen the murderers coming out of a castle that was the home of a dragon. He was betting on magic.

Whatever worked on the guards might work on him. So, he'd better be careful. He should sneak up on them if he could, not just charge in.

Or that's what he was planning when the next arrow hit him in the side.

Instinct warned him just in time, the same instinct that had saved him before in the courtyard. But, he wasn't as quick and there wasn't as much room. This arrow did more than graze him.

Gaston didn't bother with strategy this time. There was no room to maneuver in the hallway, so he got out of it. The door the dead guards had been watching was open. Gaston lunged through it.

But, he'd realized something about his attacker. In the courtyard, the air had been full of scents—the fire, the animals, the scents of all the people who had criss-crossed the courtyard over the day—and the shooter had been far away, too far away to his scent from the others.

This time, Gaston did. And he wasn't a he; he was a woman.

Was it possible, he wondered, that his animal senses were just wrong? Maybe Rumplestiltskin had just given them to him to trick him into hunting down men he wanted dead.

Maybe Gaston was imagining when he thought there was someone here who reminded him of Belle.

But, he did know there was someone trying to kill him, someone he needed to slow down.

The door had a latch bolt on it, one a carefully placed paw could push into place. That ought to buy him a few seconds.

He looked around. He'd expected there to be a window he could smash through (wondering what it would do when the arrow sticking out his side got stuck on glass). Instead, there was a veranda, open to the night.

If he survived, Gaston was going to write a letter to whoever was in charge of securing this castle. They hadn't a clue.

Gaston went to the window and looked out. He was three floors up. Below him was another, smaller courtyard than the one out front. He'd done worse in this body. But, that was when he was unwounded.

If he died doing this, Rumplestiltskin better appreciate it.

He sprang over the stone railing, down to the ground below. He landed painfully, his legs buckling beneath him. But, he pulled himself up, shaking his head, trying to clear it.

That was when he saw the killers.

There were only two of them. The third man, looking drugged, was kneeling on the stones, a knife to his throat (so, not one of them after all? Or just having second thoughts?). The second was shoving a girl—a woman—towards a spinning wheel. Her hair, he saw, was the same maple-brown as Belle's. She was the woman whose scent he'd been following. More than that, Gaston recognized something else in her scent that he hadn't before. It was faint and weak, but it was there.

A child.

These men were about to kill her and she was with child.

Gaston growled. The four turned and looked at him. The woman spun and looked at him, her eyes were blue gems. Like Belle's.

Maybe it was an illusion, a trick. Maybe all this _was_ some mad game of Rumplestiltskin's. But, whatever was happening, he couldn't abandon her here to die. Gaston leapt at the killer holding the woman who wasn't Belle.

The killer shoved the woman aside, bringing up his sword. Gaston had expected that. He grabbed at the sword with his paw.

Oh. Good. Whatever magic Rumplestiltskin had given him _was_ still working.

But, he made a bad landing. He did something to the arrow, he wasn't sure what. He might have hit the arrow against the stones, or he might have just jarred it with his leap. . His head was spinning and the arrow burned like poison in his side.

When his vision cleared, the killer was pulling out a drawstring pouch. He tore it open and threw it straight in Gaston's face. Gaston leapt back. Too late.

Black dust that smelled of ashes and mouldering earth hit him, and then—

It was like a stream of black ink flooding into his eyes, it was like cold water washing into his ears. He couldn't see. The sounds he heard were distant, as though he were far under water.

This, he thought, was how they'd killed the guards, blinding and deafening them while they slit their throats. Weakly, his wounded side still burning, he tried to pull himself into an attacking crouch, growling. Hoping he looked like he could still defend himself, hoping he might buy a few more seconds before they killed him.

X

Phoebus, the assassin, drew out his sword and ran at the beast attacking his companion. It had to be the yaoguai, even if it didn't have the mane of fire. This was how everyone had described the monster.

The witch-girl hadn't destroyed it. Or the queen had lied, and Rumplestiltskin had found out what happened to his little tart—and cared. Enough to send this after them.

He brought the sword down against the monster. It was like hitting stone. A metallic clang rang through the air. Blinded though it was, the monster now knew where he was. With a growl, it raised a paw and swatted him aside, sending him crashing into the spinning wheel. It splintered under him.

The spinning wheel.

Despite his bruises, Phoebus grabbed the spindle, jerking it free of the wreckage. Maleficent had said the girl needed to touch the spindle willingly. But, she'd made her deal, hadn't she? He could ram this thing in her, now, and the spell should work.

And, if this beast had followed them from beyond Avonlea and the Marchlands, they needed the sorceress' help. He'd take care of the girl, then start running for Maleficent's castle before the thing had recovered its sight.

Phoebus grabbed the girl by the wrist. She tried to pull away, but it wasn't like she had the strength to fight him. He lifted up the spindle to ram it into her—hard—when something collided with the back of his knees, making him let her go.

It was the stupid princeling Maleficent had told them to bring. She'd told them to use him to make the princess cooperate—and to make sure he knew he was the reason Aurora was cursed.

The princess had made them swear that oath on her magic stone. But, that didn't count anymore, did it? He couldn't harm the prince only so long as he kept his promise not to harm them. Attacking Phoebus while he was trying to get away from the yaoguai had to break that.

He rammed his sword through Philip's back and turned his attention back to Aurora.

X

Gaston smelled more blood, the blood of the third man who had been with the killers. That filled the air like a thick cloud.

If he was one of the killers after all, that was one less problem for Gaston to deal with. If he wasn't . . . well, it was still something he didn't have to deal with.

There was also the blood of the woman who wasn't Belle.

He sniffed the air, growling.

He was getting dizzy. How much had he bled? He had to stay focused. This was the most dangerous time in a battle, when you were losing strength, when you were unsure if you could see it through. This was when troops who could have held a line broke and ran.

There. He smelled Belle's blood _there._

X

Deimos thought he'd gotten the upper hand when he threw the Maleficent's night dust into the monster's face, but the thing wouldn't stop. It had swatted aside Phoebus when he tried to attack it and, now, it was scenting the air, looking for Deimos. He held up his knife while drawing his sword. The eye, he decided. Phoebus' sword hadn't dented it. His best chance would be to go for the beast's eye.

The monster turned slightly, its head following the knife.

Deimos moved to the side, quickly. The creature turned again, its blind eyes staring at the blade.

Blood, Deimos thought. It had to smell the blood. He'd cleaned the blade after blinding and killing those guards, but he'd been holding the knife on the princess. He remembered how the little tart started forward when she saw the prisoner. The briar's little boy-toy, Maleficent had called him. For a moment, he'd been afraid the girl would ruin everything, slitting her own throat on the knife before they could finish the job properly.

Yes, that was what the beast smelled. Good. He could use that.

Deimos saw the arrow sticking out the monster's side. Maybe they had an ally? Someone else Maleficent had sent along? That arrow must be made of something special to cut the monster when a steel sword couldn't. Worth taking, if he got the chance.

But, for now, worth taking advantage of.

He tossed the knife quickly to the right. The beast followed it, growling, leaving its side open. Deimos lunged for the arrow, pushing it in. The beast howled.

Then, it turned, far faster than anything so big and already wounded should be able to. Its blind, burning eyes fixed on Deimos. Then, its jaws closed over him.

X

Aurora screamed as the sword went into Philip.

He didn't deserve this. He should have left the assassin alone. The killer had believed Aurora's story. Philip would have been safe.

But, Philip was a hero. Just like the ones in Aurora's books. He couldn't just leave her. And, now, he was going to die for it.

The killer turned back to Aurora. He was _smiling_.

Aurora didn't always understand faces. People were full of what her tutors called 'nuance,' which meant that they were telling you things all the time—or thought they were—by whether their smile went this way or that or by some funny way they said their words. Then, they whispered behind your back that you were rude and cold-hearted for not understanding whatever it was they hadn't said.

But, Aurora didn't need her tutors to explain this to her. The man had murdered Philip. He was trying to curse her. And he was happy about it.

He also thought Aurora was going to try to escape and was already reaching to grab her again.

Instead, she jumped at him. Or at the spindle in his hand.

She was clumsy and weak. She knew, if it came to a real fight, she didn't stand a chance. But, this was the last thing he was expecting. She had the spindle before he knew what she was after.

Of course, she was also close enough for him to catch. His arm closed around her waist (so he didn't have to put down his sword, she thought). With his free hand, he reached for the spindle.

It was a parody of how Philip held her, she thought. And proof she wasn't a threat. A smart man wouldn't grab so much as an angry cat this way, for fear of being scratched. She wasn't even as dangerous as that, not to him. And Aurora thought he was probably a good judge.

"Give that to me!" he snarled, trying to get the spindle.

Aurora's eyes widened, not believing he'd said that. A part of her stood to the side, being shocked. It was one of the things stupid villains said in the storybooks, so unlike the things she thought they ever said in real life.

The other part of her mentally shrugged and ignored the improbability. She gave him the spindle, ramming it at his face.


	5. Courtyard Conversations

The killer tumbled to the ground.

Aurora turned around, searching for the other assassin. The black dog had him in his teeth and was just letting him drop. The creature stared around blindly, not seeming to understand what was going on.

Then, Aurora saw a warrior running out of the castle. His armor was strange, not a style of the North or South. He was also drawing a bow and aiming it at the hound.

"No!" Aurora shouted, rushing between the beast and the archer. It was only as she got between them that it occurred to her that maybe this warrior was with the assassins. Or maybe the warrior was on her side—or Philip's—but knew more than she did about the giant monster standing behind her—the monster that had, after all, just finished killing a man with its bare teeth.

But, the warrior lowered his bow.

Aurora turned and looked at the monster. For the first time, she noticed the arrow sticking out of its side, along with the blood dripped over the courtyard stones. There was a great deal of blood. The dog growled, its ears flattened against its skull.

Aurora held her hand up to it. Dogs had always made her nervous. They could be worse than people, who at least had _words_ to explain why they were doing something. Even if they still expected you to understand things they never said. Dogs were nothing _but_ things they never said.

But, she'd been taught how to deal with them. A little.

If the dog's master said it was all right, start by giving the dog your hand to sniff. Don't crowd it. Don't make it nervous.

She pretended the dog had a master who'd already told her it wasn't going to try to use her as a chew toy. Not crowding it or making it nervous seemed easy enough—except wounded animals were supposed to be ready to attack anything that came near them, weren't they?

Still, she held up her hand, and the dog sniffed it. It seemed to relax. Aurora patted it uncertainly. Then, carefully, she walked around the beast towards Philip. The warrior, his bow still drawn even if the arrow was pointed at the ground, came closer, never taking his eyes off the dog.

"You know this beast?" the warrior asked.

Aurora started. That voice was too high to be a man's. "You're a woman!"

"Yes, I know," the warrior said. "Do you know what this monster is?"

"No. It just showed up," Aurora said, aware of how stupid that sounded. _Yes, I jumped between you and this monster because . . . it just showed up. I do that with anything that shows up in the castle that tries to eat people. _"It saved me," Aurora said. She gathered up her shawl and pressed it against Philips wound. The wound was still bleeding. That meant his heart was still beating. So, that was good, right? Except for being bad. He was losing so much blood. "We need to get the guards," Aurora said. "And our healers. They may be able to help him." She was suddenly so very tired.

She was useless, she thought. She should get up and _do_ something. But, she didn't dare leave Philip. And, if screaming would have brought help, they should have had half the army here by now.

"Can you give me a token?" the warrior asked. "Something so your men will know I come from you."

Oh, right. She should have thought of that. An armed, unknown stranger could hardly be expected to give orders and have them followed. Aurora looked at her rings. There was the one Philip had given her when she was betrothed and her seal ring—Mother would kill her if she handed _that_ over to a complete stranger and a foreigner. So, the betrothal ring would have to do.

As she started to take it off, the dog leaned in and sniffed Philip. Then, it turned and sniffed Aurora again. It moved its head back and forth between them. If a dog could look distressed, then Aurora was pretty sure it looked distressed.

The dog lifted its head and gave a sad, lonely howl.

And, though it was impossible, Aurora thought it was howling a word—no, a _name._

Rumplestiltskin! The beast howled. _Rumplestiltskin!_

Aurora jerked back, then, realized she had pulled the cloth away from Philip. She pushed it back, staring at the dog in horror. "Are you mad? If the Deal-Maker heard you—" she began. The warrior, her face mostly hidden by a veil hung from her helmet, still managed to give the impression of a confused frown.

Oh, wonderful. She was hallucinating talking dogs. The warrior hadn't heard anything except a howl.

"Oh, no 'if' about it," a high pitched voice tittered behind her. "Gaston, isn't it? What _have_ you been up to? I'm very sure, when we discussed this, terrifying young maidens and leaving corpses all over their homes was _not_ part of the deal. Not that I don't admire your initiative. I didn't think you had it in you." The speaker pranced around to where Aurora could see him, a man with green-gold scales and a suit of embroidered silk. "Now, what have we—"

He stopped, the manic grin vanishing as he looked at the two killers, one dead and mauled, one—not dead.

"Well, well," he said. Aurora, always slow to understand _nuance_, understood enough to want to scream and run. Rumplestiltskin's eyes burned as they raked over the men. "Two of them."

He turned his cold burning eyes on Aurora. "And what about you, my dear? What did you have to do with these men?"

X

Gaston growled.

The moment Rumplestiltskin appeared, he'd done something. Gaston's vision cleared—although seeing the imp in one of his bright, silk suits was almost enough to blind him again—and he could hear him.

He saw Rumplestiltskin turn his calculating eyes on the girl who wasn't Belle—whoever she was—as he moved around the courtyard in that restless, dancing way of his, and had to intervene.

"They were trying to kill her," he said—tried to say. The words always came out as barks and whines, but the deal maker seemed to understand him.

"Excuse me?" Rumplestiltskin said.

"The assassins. They were trying to kill the girl, the one who smells like Belle. They tried to kill that man, too, the one who's bleeding." Or Gaston thought they had. He'd smelled the sudden spurt of blood and seen the way the girl was trying to save him. It made sense, didn't it? "You have to save him."

"_Have_ to? I thought we went over this the last time you tried waving a sword in my face, dearie. I don't _have_ to do anything." He turned his attention to the girl, but Gaston saw the way his eyes went over the girl's hair and then went to her eyes. He saw it, too. "And who are you, dearie?"

"A-Aurora," she said. "Princess of the Southern Kingdom."

"Oh, yes, I remember, now. The kingdom with the incredibly creative name. Is that thing yours?" He waved a hand towards Philip.

"He's my husband."

"My condolences. But, at least you're not his widow. At least, I _hope_ that makes you happy."

The girl frowned uncertainly, obviously wishing people didn't always speak in riddles. Then, Philip moaned.

"Aurora. . . ? Is that you?" Aurora stared down at him. Philip was conscious, the color coming back into his face. She pulled the cloth away from his side. There was no wound—not even any blood. He was whole and well.

Aurora stared stupidly. "How. . . ?"

Rumplestiltskin gave her the same look he gave Gaston when he'd said something stupider than usual. Then, the imp smiled and wriggled his fingers. "How I do everything, dearie: magic.

"You're her prince?" he asked Philip, nudging him with his boot. "You need to learn to duck. It may come in handy in the future."

Gaston, carefully put his mouth over the the leather satchel the dead man had carried and pulled it off him. There were scents of memory on it. Now he was this close, it created images the same way the men's scent had made images of Belle's injury and betrayal by these men. "Rumplestiltskin, do you recognize this? I think it was Belle's."

The Dark One practically leapt across the stones, snatching the satchel. He stared at it. Then, he held it up to his face and—he didn't sniff it, he practically _inhaled_ it. "Yes," he breathed. "It was hers. I gave it to her." He opened it and began looking through it. He frowned.

"You gave it to her?"

"Yes, yes, when I sent the annoying girl away. I couldn't have her running back the first time she was hungry or couldn't find a place to stay, could I? I had to give her some kind of supplies for the journey."

"You couldn't fit much in there."

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes. "_You_ couldn't, dearie. _I,_ on the other hand, know a thing or two about packing properly. This bag holds far more than you'd think." He looked at the assassins. "And it seems they found one or two of the little toys I must have left in there. Careless of me not to clean it out. Maleficent shouldn't even be able to send agents to this kingdom, especially not with nasty things like _that._" He indicated the spinning wheel, then frowned. "Do you think that's a personal insult, aimed at me? Using a spinning wheel to assassinate people?" he asked, then shrugged the question aside as unimportant. "But, one of _my_ charms got them past the gates."

"I saw the guards," Gaston said. "I'm surprised it took magic."

"Not the castle gates, the charm protecting the kingdom. Its gates. It was the natural result of Maleficent's defeat, all those years ago. Very little of her magic can enter this land."

The warrior stared at him. "You, imp, y_ou're_ responsible for this?"

"Oh, hardly _responsible_, little warrior. Maleficent _did_ take advantage of a bit of carelessness on my part. But, let's be honest. If you know anything about her, you know it's just a matter of time before she gets the princess, with or without my help. By the way, were you planning on introducing yourself? Just for politeness' sake? If not, I'm sure I can think of something to call you—several things, in fact. But, perhaps I shouldn't use that language in front of ladies. Or lady," he said, indicating Aurora.

"I know better than to give the Dark Beast my name."

Rumplestiltskin sighed. "Yes, Fa Mulan, I'm sure you do. A pity I already know it. You've earned yourself a slight reputation, I'm afraid. Don't ask me what kind. I already said I won't use that language. More importantly, do you know anything about _these?_" He indicated the assassins.

"They're murderers who kidnapped my prince," Mulan nodded towards Philip. "What's your interest in them?"

"Oh, nothing much. I just thought they might have had a hand in events surrounding a certain noblewoman." Rumplestiltskin was trying to sound light and careless, but Gaston saw the murderous light growing in his eyes. "Not a story you're likely to know. Unless you do? Does Belle ring any bells? Because, if not, I'll just collect what's left of these and be on my way."

"You, Deal-Maker," Philip said, lifting himself up with help from Aurora. Apparently, Rumplestiltskin's healing had limits—or he just hadn't bothered to do more. "You're speaking of Lady Belle? Of the Marchlands?" There was a protective tone in his voice Gaston didn't like.

Rumplestiltskin, on the other hand, looked at Philip like a falcon diving for a mouse. "Are you saying _you _knew her?" he asked. "Really?" The cold fire was back in his eyes. Gaston wondered if he'd saved the prince only to get him killed. Or worse.

Rumplestiltskin was certainly capable of worse.

"Tell me the whole story," Rumplestiltskin demanded, far too much of his teeth showing. "And don't leave anything out. Especially clerics.


	6. Amor Vincit Omnia

"Clerics?" Philip said, obviously confused. If Gaston had been able to speak, he would have told the prince to get used to it. Even when you knew what Rumplestiltskin was talking about, you really didn't.

Philip, however, was trying to keep the upper hand. "I don't know what you mean, Imp. The fairy, Maleficent, cast a spell on me, turning me into a monster. The Lady Belle rescued me from my enchantment at great risk to herself. I owe her a debt. If you have harmed her—"

Rumplestiltskin's eyes flashed. "Oh, there's no end to the harm I did her. Not that I meant to. We had a bargain, she and I. My prices are steep. I expect you know that. But, this one wound up costing her more than I ever intended. She died."

"You killed her."

Rumplestiltskin wasn't a man but, despite his claws and mad laughter, Gaston had begun thinking of him as one. Not now. The look on his face made Gaston want to cower like a frightened pup. Philip managed not to cringe, but he couldn't stop the blood draining from his face.

Rumplestiltskin's fingers twitched. Gaston tensed, expecting the worst. But, no spells were cast. Philip didn't go up in flames or find the skin stripped from his bones.

"No, boy," Rumplestiltskin said. His voice was calm, but his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. "I didn't kill her. She wanted to save her people. I set a price. She paid it. I sent her home, the victorious heroine, the returning savior. And they killed her." His eyes glittered coldly as he studied Philip—especially, Gaston thought uneasily, the soft spot on the neck where an attacking beast would aim to tear out the throat (self-consciously, Gaston didn't look at the assassin who'd died).

But, Rumplestiltskin didn't attack. "My . . . reputation is not a good one, Prince. I forgot that, sometimes, assumptions are made concerning those who deal with me." He frowned. "I found those assumptions insulting, in this case." He gestured towards Gaston. "So, I set my friend, here, to sniff out the ones responsible. A fortunate circumstance for you."

Philip looked doubtful. It was Princess Aurora who spoke up for him. "It's true," she blurted out, then blushed as everyone stared at her. "The killer, the one who brought me here, he said there'd been a woman, a witch. He said—he said her father sold her to a dark wizard."

Rumplestiltskin snorted. "No one decided Belle's fate but Belle. She made the deal, not Lord Maurice."

Aurora hesitated. "You said people made assumptions. He thought—I think he thought you wanted Belle—_Lady_ Belle—for, uh, as your . . . I mean. . . ."

"She was my housekeeper," Rumplestiltskin snapped. "It was amusing, to have a noblewoman dusting the furniture. When the joke got old, I sent her away. That's all."

"Oh," Aurora considered that. "And the monster, the demon dog, that was you, Philip?" When Philip nodded, she said, "They thought she was controlling you, helping you attack the town."

"Hardly. She broke my curse."

Gaston tried to imagine Belle fighting a demon dog. _He_ would have thought twice about taking on a monster like, well, like him. Belle was just a small, slip of a thing. How had she even dared? Maybe Rumplestiltskin _had_ taught her magic. . . ?

"Men like that need an excuse when a woman does what they can't," Mulan said, as if she'd been reading Gaston's mind. "Like deciding she's a witch."

Aurora added, "He said they—they handed her over to—to someone who knew how to deal with witches."

Gaston shifted uncomfortably. If Lord Maurice heard this story, would he believe Belle was a clever hero? Or would he think Belle had learned dark magic? And what would he do to her if she had?

"Clerics," Rumplestiltskin said, his voice oddly flat. "They scourged her. And flayed her. Till she died." He seemed suddenly weary, as though the night had gone on too long. He looked at Mulan and Philip. "Tell me what you know."

Aurora looked at Rumplestiltskin. Her face was still as stone, giving nothing away. But, Gaston smelled the emotions roiling inside her. Confusion—anxiety—left-over fear from nearly being killed.

And compassion. She looked at Rumplestiltskin, and compassion and shared grief came off her in waves.

"Philip," she said. "Please, tell him."

The prince studied Aurora's grave, calm face before nodding and beginning his tale. He told how he had been caught and transformed into a beast like Gaston. Except for the mane of fire. And setting things burning just by being careless or angry. _That _was different. Gaston didn't think he'd like Maleficent.

Philip told how he'd roamed the countryside, looking for help. But, the beast had suffered fits of madness when it was hurt or disturbed (a muscle twitched oddly in Rumplestiltskin's jaw as Philip described it, but the wizard said nothing). Hunters had been sent after him. He'd almost despaired, when the Lady Belle had found him.

Mulan broke in at this point. "I was from one of the villages near where Philip had his den. I'd been tracking him when I met Belle." She paused. Gaston smelled her embarrassment. "I'd been tracking him for weeks. Belle found him in a day from what she'd read in a book."

"Li Ho's Bestiary," Rumplestiltskin murmured. "Yes, that sounds like her. Go on."

Mulan told how she'd been upset at Belle's sudden appearance as she was tracking Philip. Later, though—with no idea where to search now the yaoguai had been scared from its den—

"Scared?" Philip said

Mulan ignored him. "I went looking for her. I found her in the village by the well. These two men were attacking her."

Rumplestiltskin stiffened. "Attacking how?"

"Threatening to throw her down the well. More than threatening. They were holding her over it."

"I see," Rumplestiltskin said, looking at the assassins again. Gaston found himself grateful the men were beyond Rumplestiltskin's revenge. "Please, continue."

Mulan told how she'd been wounded and how Belle had continued after Philip on her own. Philip took up the tale, explaining how Belle had lured him into the village, to the system of pipes the villagers had by the well. She'd doused him, putting out his flames.

"I was dying, I think," Philip said. "But, the water also cleared my mind. I was able to scrawl a message in the dirt, and Belle understood it. She sprinkled something on me, some kind of dust—"

"What?" Rumplestiltskin said. He'd been quiet, almost introspective. Now, he came roaring to life, all his manic energy back. He leapt to Philip's side, landing in a crouch beside him where he still lay on the stones, his reptile eyes burning into Philip's. "Dust?" His voice was high pitched. "What kind of dust? Describe it!"

"It sparkled," Philip said, leaning as far back from Rumplestiltskin as he could. He spoke quickly, obviously trying to appease the imp. "It was pink. Or mauve. It had a strange smell. Cold and clean. Like fresh water. Starlight."

Starlight. Gaston might be the only other one here who understood what that smell was like. Unless Dark One did.

Rumplestiltskin was breathing hard. He leapt up and tore open Belle's satchel, digging through it. It seemed to take longer than it should have to search something that size. But, Rumplestiltskin's arm seemed to go in father than it should have been able to, right up to the shoulder.

After a few moments of digging around, he pulled out a small pouch. He sniffed it cautiously before opening it just a crack and looking inside. His eyes were murderous as he pulled the drawstrings tight, closing it. "Fairies," he whispered. "_Fairies._"

"Fairies?" Aurora said. "You mean Maleficent?"

"Oh, not a fallen fairy, dearie, a real one. People who, how did you put it? Know how to _deal_ with witches."

Aurora looked at the bag, her brow crinkled in thought. "That's fairy dust?"

"Indeed it is. Or was. There's only a little left."

Aurora still seemed to be working this out. "You think fairies had something to do with what happened to her?"

Rumplestiltskin grimaced. "Let's say I have a long history with them. Rather like the North Kingdom and the South Kingdom."

Aurora was still considering the problem. "It doesn't make sense. They wouldn't give her fairy dust if they were trying to capture her. And, if they were trying to capture her, why would they need assassins?"

"Fairies have rules. Like Maleficent being unable to enter your kingdom. And my magic interferes with theirs. But, if they could get the fairy dust to her and get her to open up the pouch of her own will . . . that could change things in their favor."

Aurora looked unconvinced. Philip said, "She told us she had something to face when she left."

Rumplestiltskin's inhuman eyes fastened on him. "What?"

"Mulan and I asked her to join us. But, she said there was something she had to face."

"Her father," Rumplestiltskin said. "He summoned the clerics. To cleanse her." He frowned, looking at the pouch. "Or so I was told. . . ." He shook his head. "Never mind, Prince. Saving monsters was one of her hobbies. With no thought of the consequences. Be grateful to her." He looked at the assassins. "It's too bad about these. Dead is dead. As for the other, his mind's gone where I can't follow. A pity. I'd like to spend some time digging answers out of both of them." His claws twitched as he said it. Gaston had a vivid picture of those talons covered with gore as Rumplestiltskin dug through the assassin's brain. He shuddered and tried to think of something else.

Then, Rumplestiltskin shrugged as if none of this mattered. "Do what you like with them. I have other things to take care of. Gaston, tell me next time you pick up a trail. I might be inclined to give you a hand with your work. Now, if you children will excuse me—"

"Rumplestiltskin, wait," Aurora said. "I—I need to speak with you. To make a deal. Please."

Everyone stared at her.

"No!" Philip said. "Aurora, you can't—"

"Your highness, don't—" Mulan objected.

Even Gaston barked a protest. _You might want to think about this, _he tried to say.

Rumplestiltskin held up a silencing hand. "I believe she was speaking to me." He studied Aurora. "Well, Princess? I warn you, your friends have a point. There's a reason my reputation is what it is. Although—" His eyes fixed on Aurora's stomach. "—if _that's_ what you're offering, I'm not interested. Not currently."

Aurora's eyes widened. "You can tell if-? Then, I am—" She stopped quickly, reddening slightly as she looked at Philip. "That's not what I'm offering. I—please, if you'd walk with me. I—I need to speak privately. Please, Philip," she said as her husband tried to protest again. "I'll explain later. But, this is important."

Rumplestiltskin looked amused at her request. "Certainly, dearie." His eyes lit up as he thought of something. "I wonder, while we discuss whatever it is you need, could you show me your portrait gallery? I've heard a great deal about it."

The princess frowned, trying and failing to see why he was making this request. But, she must realize the danger in looking at some old paintings with a dark wizard standing beside her couldn't be much greater than standing anywhere else with him. "Of course. It's this way."

Gaston hesitated, then padded s after them.

There were no guards. Whether that was because Aurora knew how to avoid them or Rumplestiltskin used his own means to keep them out of their way—or whether this was just more proof these guards had no idea how to do their job—Gaston didn't know.

They reached the portrait hall. It was really more of a gallery, a long series of rooms with one set of paintings after another. They seemed to be in chronological order. At the end, where they began, there was a painting of Aurora and Philip signing their wedding contract. Numerous courtiers looked on, delighted. It was almost disturbing, how hard the artist had obviously worked to make everyone looke delighted.

After that, there was a painting of a queen. She was a great beauty, Gaston thought, if a little self-satisfied. Was this the legendary Aurora-Rose he'd heard of? And that had to be her husband, the man who'd _jilted _one of the most powerful enchantresses in the world.

Gaston felt a twinge of admiration for a man who could do that, even if it had been stupid. Really stupid. Gaston was beginning to suspect he knew less about women than he'd thought, but even he knew better than to think Maleficent would just sit back and accept her betrothed leaving her. She'd given up her wings and fairy gifts for him, and he'd expected her to just_ forget_ about it?

"I'm not clever," Aurora said abruptly. "I'm stupid, really." She looked at the painting of Aurora-Rose. "Not like my mother. So, I know you could probably twist any deal we make into anything you want. But, I need your help."

"That sounds like quite a dilemma," Rumplestiltskin drawled. "Why don't we start at the beginning? What do you think I can do for you? I warn you, I won't fight Maleficent. I find the world more amusing with her running around in it. And, no offense, dearie, I'm more likely to need something from her someday than I am from you."

"Yes, I suppose you would," the girl said. "She'll try again, won't she? To kill me?"

"To curse you," Rumplestiltskin said. "Not kill you. Yes, I expect she will. And she'll succeed, sooner or later."

Aurora nodded. She called herself stupid, but she had already figured that much out and wasn't wasting time arguing against it. She merely looked grave. But, then, she'd looked grave the entire time Gaston had known her. "There are three things I need," Aurora said. "It's true, what you said? I-I'm going to have a child?" She stopped abruptly, flustered.

"Oh, yes, dearie. You're about two months along. Hadn't you noticed?"

"I'd hoped, but so much has happened. . . . I couldn't be sure." She gave Rumplestiltskin a straight-forward, sensible look. "It's not as though I've done this before."

Gaston realized he'd known before she did. That was . . . disturbing. In Avonlea, a true gentleman wasn't even supposed to notice a woman was increasing, not during times of peace. He remembered times during the war, helping women and children get into boats as they made their escapes, trying to buy time for others as they escaped over land. He'd noticed then.

Rumplestiltskin, meanwhile, nodded absently, studying one of the portraits, a king. "That can be difficult. I'm still not taking it, no matter what you offer."

"What? No! We need this child!"

"We?"

"My kingdom. And Philip's. We need peace between our lands and one ruler to unite us. But, for that to happen, my baby needs to be a boy. I . . . some of the midwives and the books I've consulted say there are-are ways to ensure a child in the womb grows into a boy. But, I . . . I don't. . . ."

"Do they? It's amazing what people who don't know what they're talking about will say." He glanced at Aurora's middle again. "Fear not, little princess. That's a future prince you're carrying. That one," he added, "you can have for free. You'd have found out for yourself soon enough, anyway. Now, what are the other two things you need?"

Aurora gaped. "A boy? You're sure?"

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows in mock shock. "Princess, I don't know what you've heard about me, but you _can_ trust me to know these things. Yes, I'm sure."

"I—I—thank you. That's what I need. My child, protected. From Maleficent. From—from anything else that would keep him from becoming king."

The imp studied her with an expression Gaston couldn't make out. "What, no protection for yourself?"

"The kingdom doesn't need me," the girl said, shaking her head. She wasn't self-pitying, just stating a fact. "I don't have what it takes to be a good queen," she said matter-of-factly. "I _try,_" she added hastily. "But, I don't inspire people. I don't . . . I've seen how my mother leads. And I can't do it.

"People like Philip. They want to follow him. It will be easier for him if I'm with him. Because the kingdoms have had so much conflict. But he can win them over. If he has a son, a child of both lines to take over after him."

"Hmm, what an awful lot of thought you've given this. All right, you want your son to rule after you. What else?"

"I. . . ." Aurora swallowed. "Philip loves me," she said. Gaston stared at her. She sounded miserable, as though this were the worst thing that could have happened. "I—I didn't expect him to. Our marriage was supposed to—to be political. To unite the kingdoms. To—to provide an heir both sides would accept.

"And he thinks I love him," she said wretchedly. "He thinks it's _true love_. I—I don't want him to know it's not. I don't want him to be hurt or—or to find out I don't—I don't love him."

"You don't love him," Rumplestiltskin repeated. His reptile eyes were fixed on her now. "Are you sure? You're willing to make a deal with the Dark One to protect him."

"I know I don't. I—I'm not sure if I _can_ love someone. Not the way people talk about in books and stories. I—I don't think that way. I need to be practical. I never—I never let my feelings run away with me. I _can't._"

"Hmm, yes, that is a problem." He continued to look at her, his inhuman eyes unreadable. Then, he cackled madly. "All right, dearie, I'll tell you what I'll do." He struck a dramatic pose. "Your child shall live. When the curse strikes, he shall be protected. As for Philip, he will not see through your little charade, not though all happy endings shall pass away. If they come back, I suppose matters can take care of themselves."

Aurora's brow crinkled. "I'm—I'm not sure I understand that."

Rumplestiltskin sighed. "I put the protection under a conditional clause. It's normal to do that at times like this. Leave one weak spot the spell can be broken at, then do everything you can to make it a weak spot no one can reach. Trust me, it works better than trying to make one without any weaknesses. _Those_ spells can be broken anywhere.

"The weak spot in this one is as follows: your prince will not see that it isn't true love so long as our world and the people in it continue by their usual rules. Even if those rules change, making it so that he has no reason to expect you and he should have a happy ending, he still won't see it. Only if the world is changed and then changed back again will he have a _chance_ of seeing how things really are—a chance, mind you, not a certainty. Is that acceptable?"

"I—I—Yes. Thank you. Very acceptable."

"Ah-ah-ah, dearie. There's still the matter of price."

Aurora looked worried and extremely attentive, like a schoolgirl about to be quizzed on something she hadn't studied. "Yes? What price do you want?" Her hands closed protectively over her stomach and the small life fluttering there, obviously afraid Rumplestiltskin would try to trick her out of it, despite what he'd said.

"That," Rumplestiltskin said, pointing over his shoulder to one of the portraits, not bothering to look. It was back in an alcove. Gaston could only make out the hint of a gold frame from where he was standing.

Aurora blinked, obviously trying to reason this one out. "The painting of Queen Katherine? Why would you want that?"

"Oh, you know her, do you? And do you know her story?"

Katherine . . . Katherine. . . . That sounded familiar, though Gaston couldn't remember why. Wasn't that the name of King Midas' daughter? No, she was something else. Agnes, wasn't it?

Aurora looked deeply puzzled and a touch suspicious, as though she suspected Rumplestiltskin of having a joke at her expense. Then, with a resigned sigh, she said, "Queen Katherine, her son was supposed to unite the kingdoms again. But, she only had a daughter."

"Did she? I seem to recall hearing about a son."

"Roland," Aurora said.

Roland. There'd been a great knight in the king's court by that name generations ago. Like most boys in Avonlea, Gaston had grown up learning all the legends and ballads about him. Roland, slayer of monsters, savior of kings. But—he was—_he was—_

Silently, Gaston moved to where he could see the painting.

Red-brown hair. Blue eyes. Skin like polished marble.

And, not just that. The artist had captured the same mix of resolution and compassion in her gaze, with just a hint of an amused smile around her lips, as though she understood a joke everyone else had missed.

Belle.

"But, the South would never have accepted him," Aurora went on. "He was the son by—by her second marriage."

"Oh, good you're polite," Rumplestiltskin said. "Yes, she was married, whatever your South Kingdom histories say. And her son had a daughter, Emelie, who married a minor lord and had a daughter who looked remarkably like this portrait." He paused. "So do you. A bit. You have her eyes and hair."

Aurora shook her head. "She was a beauty. Like my mother. I'm not."

"Gold of sunlight in hair is extremely overrated, princess. Never mind. Do we have a deal?"

Aurora studied him. "Yes, if the painting's really what you want. Then, yes, you can have it."

"Oh, there are things I want more. I think I would prefer the reality to the image. But, I will take what I can get in this instance. The painting. In return, your child survives Maleficent's curse and any assassins she sends after him, while your husband stays pleasantly deluded till such improbable times as already specified. Do we have a deal?"

"We do."

Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers, and the painting vanished in a cloud of purple smoke. He turned to go, then stopped. He looked back at the princess. "Obviously, I wasn't at your christening, Princess. Just as well. People rarely seem to like the gifts I give. However, I'll offer you one today. Unlike that oaf you stabbed with the spindle, when Maleficent's curse finds you, you will be protected. Though other curses wash over this land, they will have no power to steal you away. You will sleep peacefully till your prince finds you—and he _will_ have the power to wake you. I'll see to that."

"How?" Aurora asked. Gaston found himself liking her. If the Dark One himself said something she didn't understand, she just asked him to explain. "How can you promise that?"

"Maleficent has drawn me into this, whether she meant to or not. She used things I made to get past the defenses of this kingdom, things she had no right to. She used assassins who were already my enemies. The weapon she chose was a spinning wheel, which many would consider a sign that I'd been here."

Aurora frowned. "I don't think anyone would. The story about my mother—"

"What matters is how _I _consider it. These things give me power to interfere. For the rest—" He reached out to Aurora and plucked a single hair from her head. "You're a child of true love. There is a touch of it in you, no matter what you think." He held up the pouch that had held the fairy dust. A small sparkle of light, a single grain of dust came out of it and landed on the hair. The hair curled in his hand, changing. In a moment, Rumplestiltskin held a small sphere of red-gold light on his finger. He flicked it at Aurora, and it landed on her lips and vanished. "You do care for him, Princess. That means more than you think. It has power, too, enough to hold this spell together. The next time you kiss him, that charm passes to him. Then, when you're cursed, if he kisses you, the charm will pass back. It will have power to make you as free of any curse as you are now."

Aurora frowned. "That sounds conditional."

"It's not. It's the nature of the spell. It isn't true love. It won't destroy the curse—if she uses a spindle, again, don't touch it after you're freed. The curse will settle back in it. The same with any other tool she uses. A cursed ring, a necklace, if she uses something like that, cast it away from you as soon as you revive and don't let anyone else touch it. But, it will fool Philip. Which is what you want."

There was something harsh in the way he said that, almost like an accusation. Gaston found himself letting out a protesting whine, when Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers, and he and Gaston were out in the woods.

"That was well done, Gaston. Good luck with the rest of them. Now, if you don't mind—"

_What about Aurora?_ Gaston asked.

"What about her? I've done my best. More than I should have for that price."

_Isn't there some way to protect her from Maleficent?_

Rumplestiltskin turned his odd, inscrutable gaze on Gaston. "When I look in the future, I see her cursed. She can't escape it. I've done what I can for her."

_But—_

"She's not Belle, Gaston. Saving her won't change that."

_That's not what I—_ Gaston stopped, uncertain how to say what he meant. Yes, she wasn't Belle. He tried to imagine Belle in Aurora's place. She would have been more sure of herself, he thought. The hesitations, the uncertainty, none of that that would have been there.

But, he realized, Belle wouldn't have given him the feeling that she needed him.

Which was stupid, because Belle _had_ needed him. She had needed someone to save her from Lord Maurice or clerics or fairies or whoever it was who had destroyed her.

But, not _him_. She hadn't needed a fool whose plan to free her from the Dark One was to knock and his door and challenge the most powerful wizard in the world to a duel.

What Belle had needed _was _the most powerful wizard in the world. He thought about Philip's story. Belle had fought a monster like Gaston—a worse one, going by the burning mane—and she'd won. He remembered Belle's stalwart faith during the war when everyone else had given up hope.

And she'd been right.

And she'd saved them. All by herself, making a bargain no one else could.

Belle, he thought, had never needed him.

Aurora, he couldn't help thinking did. If only the way anyone might need a dog, to stay by her and reassure her when everything went wrong. Which it was going to, if Rumplestiltskin knew what he was talking about.

"We have a bargain, Gaston," Rumplestiltskin reminded him. "And she's married. And loyal, in case you didn't notice."

_I didn't mean—! I wouldn't—besides, I'm not— _He saw the amusement in Rumplestiltskin's eyes. He managed not to growl.

_She needs a friend. That's all. And I'm just a dog._

"So you are. A dog who made a deal with me. A deal you're going to keep." He gave Gaston a sideways look. "But . . . you might start by checking over those assassins again. See if you can pick up any other scents on them. And see if Mulan and Philip have anything else to say. I might have missed something. But, whatever you do, go away. I have other things to take care of."

There was a puff of smoke and Rumplestiltskin was gone.

Gaston hesitated. Then, wagging his tail, he turned around and headed back towards the castle.


End file.
